The Penitent Man
by La Madrugada
Summary: Sam’s made a decision, but will Dean ever understand what’s going on in his brother’s head. Picks up a month after “It’s the Great Pumpkin Sam Winchester” and goes AU from there. Angsty Dean POV. First in the Crusade ‘verse. WIP.
1. Chapter 1

**THE CRUSADE SERIES**

**PART 1: THE PENITENT MAN **

Okay, so here it goes. First attempt at SPN fic. I tried starting a story or two in SGA-community a few years ago, but kind of fizzled out on both the series and writing. I'll try my best to not make the same mistakes this time 'round. But be forewarned that I'm not entirely sure where I'm headed with this one. (In theory, there will be three stories in the Crusade-verse… but I figured I should test of the waters before going completely overboard.)

SUMMARY: Sam's made a decision, but will Dean ever understand what's going on in his brother's head. Picks up a month after "It's the Great Pumpkin Sam Winchester" and goes AU from there. Angsty Dean POV. First in the Crusade 'verse. WIP.

NOTE: I'm trying out a technique I read somewhere in another fic. Inner thoughts that a character's not willing to admit are in parenthesis. You'll see what I mean. Speak up if it's too confusing. I'd love to credit the author responsible, if anyone knows who it might be…

DISCLAIMER: I don't own the characters/ story plots of Supernatural. This is just for fun.

WARNINGS: Lots of cursing. Religious Themes. Disregard for Canon storyline.

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_**"Only the penitent man will pass. Only the penitent man will pass…. The penitent man is humble... He kneels before God." ~ The Last Crusade**_

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**Chapter 1**

"No…no…no…….not again."

After everything that's happened lately, I just know that I've got to be hallucinating that empty bed next to me. I grab a fistful of the threadbare motel blankets and try closing my eyes, but nope, Sammy's bed stays empty. I'm not sure what woke me up, but 3:14 is glowing in sadistic red from the radio alarm, pushing me back for an unwelcome moment into the dream (_nightmare / flashback_) that I'd been having.

My back cracks as I push myself to standing. The only reason I'm not already planning out my little brother's death, is the sight of my girl sitting safely in her spot in the deserted lot out front. But seeing my baby is good and bad. Good, because it means I don't need to smother my car-thieving kid brother in his sleep (_as if he ever sleeps…_) But bad, because we're pit stopped in the middle of nowhere Minnesota, and the only thing around for miles is a whole lot of nothing.

There's a sad little gas station about fifteen miles back, but even they'd been locking up for the night at 10pm when I talked my way into some M&Ms and Fritos. Of course Sammy the anorexic Green Giant, said he wasn't hungry. But even if the store had still been open, I don't figure Sam set off on a two-hour walk for a midnight snack. Which leaves a very worried older brother and a whole lot of unfamiliar woods.

I might give him a hard time, but I really don't think that Sam went and called up Ruby. He knows how pissed off (_hurt / horrified / intimidated_) I was in that mausoleum when he broke his promise and pulled out the demon mojo. I'm not even angry with him really, just so completely tired of the never-ending crap that gets thrown at us. And yeah, maybe a little resentful. We're not quite back to 'okay' yet, but I was hoping we were heading that way…

I mean… maybe I hadn't talked much while driving away from the last hunt. But (_surprise, surprise)_ things hadn't turned out like we planned. We've had a bunch of rough jobs over the last couple of weeks. Neither of us was doing so hot. I just needed a bit of time to get my head back in the game, and Sammy's a big boy.

He hadn't even seemed angry about the music, so I don't think he's out sulking. But who knows. The kid's a bottomless pit of angst. Maybe he remembered stepping on a bug yesterday and he's sitting on a rock somewhere mourning. I can't help snorting at the mental image of Samantha, the reining emo champion. Though the smile slips away just as quickly. Okay… so Sam being a girl never stops being hilarious. But, the thought of him crying alone in the middle of the dark woods… an open target for anything… not so funny. Especially if he's out there to avoid his big brother.

My jaw clenches at how much 'avoiding' my little brother's been doing lately. Even when he's right in the room, it feels like he's not really there. Sam's always gotten lost in his own head. But the last few weeks he's seemed even more spacey than usual. He'd been permanently sporting that crease in his forehead that I hate, and I can't even remember the last time I heard the geek laugh.

Well, that's just great…. Now I can feel my chest tightening up on me; familiar churn in my gut that only Sammy stirs up. But it's not like I'm scared or anything. Dean Winchester doesn't do fear. I'm just confused (_terrified_)… and I don't like being confused when it comes to Sammy. I'm supposed to be the expert. Of course lately, the only predictable thing Sammy's been doing is disappearing from his bed in the middle of the night. And that's not exactly the dependable behavior I'm looking for.

I look down, and I'm surprised to see that I'm already half-dressed. Guess there's some habits that never change. I slide on my boots and jacket before reaching for the doorknob and steeling myself for the blast of night air. It's not quite winter; but it sometimes feels like the Midwest's only got two seasons. Anyway, stomping through the cold woods in bumfuck Minnesota is not where I want to be at three in the morning. But I've got a brother to find.

Damnit Sam. If you're sitting on a log, contemplating your navel or something… you're gonna wish for a return to the good old days of Nair in your shampoo (_please just be meditating on a log_).

To kill time while I stumble through the woods, I start brainstorming out ways to start Sammy-proofing the hotel rooms; or better yet, Sammy-proofing Sam. I wonder if they make those leash harnesses for toddlers in size yeti? Maybe he'd agree to one of those house-arrest ankle cuffs? Then again, with his history of getting kidnapped, that might be a waste. I got it, a GPS tracking chip! I could lo-jack his ass…

I'm so caught up in planning, that I almost miss the muffled cracking sound coming from my right. The shattered nighttime stillness makes the silence of my search suddenly and painfully obvious. How could I not realize I haven't been calling out for Sam while I walked? There hadn't been any signs of struggle in hotel room, but for some reason it just seems like I shouldn't be making noise. I'm not sure why, but it feels important and I learned a long time ago to trust my instincts.

It's a split-second decision that changes my world forever. I know I'll never in my life forget the sight in that clearing. I wonder how different things might have been if I'd yelled out for my brother when searching the woods that night. But maybe there is such a thing as fate, because man did he need to be found before things got any worse.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

There's a mumble up ahead- low and repetitive- like chanting. I grab my best knife, readying to save Sammy from whatever human sacrifice/ witchcraft/ retreat for serial killers that he's managed to stumble into… again. But when I charge into the clearing my brain just freezes. I can't move. I want to scream, 'What the fuck!!" louder than I've ever screamed anything before. But I can only stare and force breath into my lungs.

As I watch, Sam_ (__my beautiful baby brother__)_ is stripping the flesh from his back with some freaky, short whip. 'Scourge,' the mini-Sam who lives in my head helpfully supplies-- as though that's really the issue that I'm focused on right now.

The kid's all but naked, laid out on his knees, his giant frame hunched and twisted. His lashes never slowing while he rambles on in whispered Latin. Freaked out does not even BEGIN to describe my reaction. Sam might be an emo-princess, and sure he beats himself up over everything… but he doesn't usually BEAT himself up… right?

I figure he must be under a curse or something. _(Because somehow that's makes everything better?)_ A curse I can deal with. A curse I can fix… Sam suddenly picking up a fetish for masochism… not so much. First thing, I need to get my hands on that whip. Maybe we're dealing with some sort of pain demon or something.

I walk slowly out of the shadows. I'm close enough now to hear the words. My Latin's never been up to geekboy's or even dad's level, but I can still pick out the odd word or too. It's enough to seriously worry about the scene in front of me.

_** Mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa. Deus, miserere mihi peccatori. **_

_** Miserere mei et salva me. Ante conspectum tuum genibus me provolvo. **_

_** Purifica me Domine; munda meus animus. **_

_** Dolor meum tibi offero Domine. **_

_** Accipe hoc vestro mortali corpore hostia vivens et sancta.**_

** {Translation below}**

Sure I might not babble Latin in my sleep like Mr. Stanford, but even I know what a bunch of 'mea culpas' mixed in with 'purifica' and 'dolor' adds up to, and I don't like it one bit.

Swallowing around the rock in my throat, I step towards Sam, holding my hands out in front of me. And yeah, I might have jumped a bit when the next lash struck, but it's only because I was distracted by that last line (_and some recent memories of_ _torture_). Just what in the hell is going on here?!!

"Sam. Sammy. Come on kiddo. Look at me."

Sam raises over-bright, glazed eyes, and doesn't even blink when a line of sweat drips down his brow and over his eyelid. The idiot's still kneeling with his bare knees forced into a pile of gravel, and my own newly scar-free legs twinge in sympathy. I'm getting seriously pissed off here _(terrified, appalled, nauseous) _and just want some answers.

"Dude. Snap out of it."

Big hazel eyes focus _(finally)_ on my own.

"Dean. What are you doing out here."

That's it. I've been patient; I've been gentle, and this is all I get. Uh-uh. Not happening. Unfortunately, I'm pretty sure that even my awesome glare can't quite capture the sentiment of finding your missing brother beating himself bloody out in the woods while chanting in Latin. Especially when he calmly acts like your what's out of place.

Lucky for me, Sam's never been good with quiet. _(At least old Sam wasn't… new Sam seems like he could go a few days without saying a word and might not even notice…)_ When the silence stretches on, he fidgets a bit, which must pull on his back because he winces. It breaks the Twilight Zone effect, but also drives home for me that Sam needs to be checked out _(maybe in more ways than one)._

His face settles back into the blank, constipated look that he's been wearing for the past month. In a painful, blinding flash, I realize that tonight is not something new.

I try to blink away something that's caught in my eye. Oh Sammy, what are you doing... He sees me staring over his back, and a guilty blush shoots up his cheeks.

"Hmmm. Dean, It's nothing man. I'm good."

I'm about to let out a stream of curses that might even shock a few hunters, when a horrifying thought occurs to me.

"Christo."

Sammy flinches. But I've been reading my little brother's body language for a few decades now, and I know plain hurt feelings when I see them. How did I end up as the bad guy here?

I feel like I'm running blind. Whenever I've felt completely lost, my dad's always been my compass. Without conscious thought, I find myself pulling out a pretty impressive John Winchester voice.

"Sam. Tell me what's going on."

Sam glances up, just in time for me to catch kicked puppy sliding into resignation.

I totally rock at hiding my relief when Sam finally sets down the ugly leather torture device. Which, by the way, is so getting burned tonight. Well… unless it's a cursed object, then I'd better check with Bobby first. Then burn it.

I'm dragged back from plans for a bonfire by Sam's raspy _(just how long has he been out here anyway?)_ announcement.

"I found the answer, Dean."

TBC

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Rough Translation of Latin:

_** My fault, my fault, my most grievous fault. **__**O God, have mercy on me, a sinner. **_

_** Have mercy on me and save me. I fall upon my knees before thee. **_

_** Purify me Lord; cleanse my soul.**_

_** My pain I offer to you Lord. **_

_** Take this mortal body as a living sacrifice. **_


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

"I found the answer, Dean."

I bite my tongue to hold back my automatic response—What was the question? How to reach a new level in totally freaking out your big brother? Instead, I pretend that's a perfectly sane response. Humor him. Keep him talking; and he does.

"The answer to everything."

I can feel Sammy drifting away from me again, but this time his eyes are taking on an almost manic gleam.

"Sam. I'm cold. I'm tired. I'm confused, and you're scaring the hell out of me. What's going on?"

"I figured out how to purge my evil and earn God's forgiveness for using my powers."

Okay. Wow. Didn't see that one coming. I never realized blood could drain out of your head that quickly. So, no curse then. Sammy's just finally lost it.

I really try to come up with a response. It's not my fault I blank in the face of Sam-turned-zealot. Anyway, he seems to take my totally manly noise as a prompt to keep going. The determined look is back with a vengeance, and for a second I could swear that I'm looking at our Dad. It's the look of a broken man on a mission, with nothing to lose. It's an expression that I've only seen twice on my brother's face— in the grief-maddened days after Palo Alto and Broward County.

What the fuck! Sammy hasn't exactly been himself lately, but how could I have missed something so huge.

"It'll be better now Dean, you'll see."

Okay. I think I'm going to vomit. It kills me to realize that Sam honestly thinks some medieval torture routine is the solution to all our problems. I clench my fist when his voice wavers and cracks as he tries to go on.

"I tried not to use my powers, Dean. I always meant to keep my promise, I swear. But I lost Ruby's knife in the fight with Samhain. If I hadn't done it, he would have killed me, then slaughtered everyone in that town. I couldn't just let such a powerful demon go. Not now, not when we're fighting the actual apocalypse."

I watch Sammy's head droop down to his chest, amazed as always that someone his size can manage to make himself look so small.

"Dean, a little more of me dies every time I stab some innocent victim just to kill the demon inside. And maybe it's wrong… but I can't just stand by when there are people I can save. This is what I'm meant to do; there has to be a reason… There has to be."

I'm torn between accepting some truth in what he's saying, and my absolute and overwhelming fear that I'm going to lose the last of my family to darkness or an angel's wrath. So sue me if I take the coward's route.

"But Sam, the angels warned you…"

"You think I don't know that? You think I didn't see the look on Castiel's face when forced to shake hands with an abomination like me?"

I'm hit with a burst of anger. My gut lurches when reminded of the destroyed look on Sam's face that day. When his almost childlike joy at meeting a 'Messenger of God' was crushed by Cas' cold, superior greeting- ignoring all Sam's faith and light- and reducing him to the 'boy with the demon blood.' I can't quite meet my brother's eyes when he continues.

"You think I don't get that Uriel would follow through with his threats? But don't you see? He looked me right in the eye, and told me the only reason that I'm still alive is because I'm still useful. The moment that stops and I become more trouble than I'm worth, he's already said he'll turn me to dust with a word."

Sam's almost in a trance now. Knees up, rocking back and forth, rambling on about how he needs to be useful… That he has to keep doing good or the angels will kill him- how he can't leave me all alone, but he doesn't know what else to do. How he's profane and corrupted, cursed and damned.

His words swarm around me like bees, closing in. I'm ready to have the mother of all chick-flick moments, and wrap him up in my arms like when he was a little boy with a nightmare. But I can't move. Turns out, my world froze the second I heard about Uriel's little chat. Those bastards broke my Sammy.

Worse, it's my fault too. It's my fault that I didn't know until two years ago that my brother prays every freaking day. My fault that I made a deal with a demon and pulled him out of whatever afterlife he might have earned, just to get him caught up in the battle between Heaven and Hell. Maybe I never should have pushed him to keep his faith when he'd started realizing for himself what dicks these angels were. But what else are you supposed to tell your little brother when he looks at you with big Bambi eyes pleading… 'This is God and Heaven? This is what I've been praying to?'

I'm struggling to figure out how in the hell we could have gotten to this point, when I'm struck by flash after flash of memories: Sammy's face when he learned of dad's orders to kill him if he couldn't be saved; Sam's face when he heard the angels had plans to stop him; his reaction when my own fear had me telling him I'd hunt him if I didn't know him.

Then I remember standing by that roadside in Carthage, when he begged me to understand that his tainted blood was a disease he could never scrub clean. How the only thing he could control was making something good of his curse by helping people. Was Sam's sanity starting to slip even then?

TBC


End file.
